My 3-year-old loves bubbles.
He begs to go outside and “pop-pop bubbas,” and since he can’t talk well, that is the closest we have come to a sentence. I jump at his command.
We have loved using the wand-type bubbles, and have actually been through six wands already this summer. His sister got him a bubble machine for his birthday – the best present ever for a 3-year-old obsessed with bubbles.
He has a unique strategy for catching bubbles.
He locks his eyes on a bubble and chases it until he can no longer reach it, as it is lifted to the sky or pops, meanwhile missing all of the other bubbles that surround him.
I try to stop him from fixating on just one bubble by saying, “Eli, look at all of the other bubbles.” And he eventually sees them as they drift away.
All of these bubbles have made me question what he focuses on.
And what bubbles I focus on.
Hang with me here for a minute.
How many times do I focus on the bubble flying away, trying to reach it, when there are so many other beautiful bubbles floating all around me?
I miss out on so much trying to reach for the one unattainable bubble.
My little guy is like so many of us, and we focus on the bubble flying high in the air and don’t try to grab the nice beautiful bubble that we are staring right at.
I’m not suggesting that we don’t set our sights high, or reach for the stars and any other cheesy metaphor about going for your goals, but rather be satisfied and enjoy what is right in front of us.
Case in point. The whole stinking pandemic. I was looking for the bubble that was labeled with normalcy and routine when bubbles were floating all around me with adventure and opportunity and a chance to think outside the box.
It comes down to which bubbles you focus on.
